The man had wished to think much longer on the Fairy. He was the proudest thing he had ever known, and the beauty of that life was something he couldn’t ignore. But still, he did not understand the significance of the encounter.

Still he thought of his words, and he decided to follow the lead the Fairy had given him. In that canyon, indescribably far in the distance, was a dragon. The man did not understand why, but he decided to go. Perhaps, the dragon would have a suggestion on a good place to die.

While his head was down in deep thought as he traveled, he bumped into The Coward. It shocked him deeply, for such a long time he had wandered and there was nothing to be had for it. But now, shortly after his chance encounter with the fairy he was once again a recipient of a stroke of chance.

The Coward looked at the man with wide eyes, glaring fearfully as his weak body tumbled over as they collided. He caught himself on the sand, pushing himself up to a crouched and retracted position. His eyes were affixed to the gold upon the man’s head. To the man the Coward looked like an odd thing. He was bald with unbelievably wide eyes, and his attire was patchwork, made of cloth, hides, and whatever else he seemingly could have put together.

“You… A king! Oh…” The Coward’s stance quickly broke apart, and he fell to a bow much more quickly than the man had thought was possible. “I didn’t mean it, sir. Please… please don’t punish me.”

Before he could reply, the Coward had immediately began screaming.

“OH! The.. There’s blood! Blood on your cloak! HAVE YOU NO FEAR!?” The Coward moved in quick, as if to wipe it away. But the man retreated a moment, fearful of anything happening to it. To this the Coward stopped with mad eyes.

And when the Coward looked at the crown again, he scowled.

“I saw you as a king but you are a fool! Quite silly, dressing up in such a way so others fear you.” The Coward waved his hand, as if dismissing his previous idea in a literal fashion.

The Coward remembered the blood, and began to back through the sand at a quickened pace. He’d brought a knife from a hidden holster from his side, and was now brandishing it openly, swinging it wildly.

“A thief! That’s what you must be. You wear the treasures of others to make yourself look a fine thing, don’t you?”

The sand gave out under the Cowards feet, too focused on the man to watch where his backstep led him. He shrieked, his voice shrill. His blade dropped from his hand in the midst of the fall, and it cut him a nice gash on a disgusting course as it flew. “WHY, WHY ME?” He yelled. “It’s not fair, why is it always happening to me!”

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“First this damned place where there’s no moon or sun… now with this mongrel…” He began to shed real tears then, straight from the soul.

And to this the man still stayed silent. He was utterly confused- and he thought he had gained a moment of clarity after his encounter with the fairy. The Coward’s appearance, his words and his actions all made him feel an emotion. Pity, but unlike the fairy it was something he despised. He didn’t want to raise himself compared to the Coward, and prepared to offer him a hand.

“Don’t near me, Beast! You have no right, no right! I’ve toiled, I’ve escaped from danger. You just dully face the world, you have no shame! None! You’ve not thought of the peculiarity of the sands, or the skies! You haven’t thought of that ephemeral fog that rises. You don’t even understand that you don’t know how you got here!”

To this, the man thought about the Coward in front of him. His body moved a lot, but it seemed intentional. It was odd. He moved around quickly, but he didn’t close the distance. He understood the space he occupied and took full advantage of it. Quite a sight.

The Coward cried again, tears flowed from him so easily. His emotions came to him naturally and he brandished them as a shield. “I hate you, please leave. I still have something.” and with this the Coward spoke with pride for the first time.

“My future is still there- as long as I escape the sands. And I will… I will.”

His eyes grew with a bit of madness, and a smile curled at his lip. And then the most peculiar thing occurred. The Coward began to laugh, pointing at the man. “You’ll die of thirst before long. I bet you haven’t even thought of how to stay hydrated, moron.” The man supposed the Coward was retreating to his advantage, which was apparently his intelligence.

The fog that he spoke of, one that raised very quickly and went away with just as much speed, had appeared around them to the ignorance of the two.

The man was the only one to notice after a time, but the Coward was right. He paid it no mind, no mind at all. The world around was of little interest to him. He was far too taken by the ramblings of the Coward. How was it possible that he spoke with such intensity? The Coward himself, not necessarily his words, was what captured him. If it were possible, he’d wish to remember this moment forever.

It just amused him, really that was it. The fervor combined with the dour atmosphere. It was too contrasting. What was the Coward so worked up about? It really seemed so trivial, but the passion from the Coward spilled. He wanted to reply with his own mimicry. A joke, or two, at his expense. A light jab about how he just wanted the cloak to further his patchwork job. And for the first time in his time in the desert, the man thought of how peculiar a sight he and his compatriot must have looked.

The man for a moment thought of the Coward's journey, and why he would be so afraid. Had he always been, was it a new phenomenon? Really, what led the Coward to being the Coward? To this, he wished he understood more.

And as the man began to open his mouth in response, the Coward’s head popped off with a sickening slice. And the man heard the voice of a woman, one that chilled the very air.